


So fond of you

by backfourteen



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Banter, Carra is no good at long distance, Chelsea FC, Daily Mail, Liverpool, Liverpool F.C., M/M, Manchester United, Spanish speaking Gaz makes a cameo, Valencia CF, based on a real interview, infidelity (sort of?)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 04:14:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5570800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backfourteen/pseuds/backfourteen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gary goes to Valencia and it’s the first time in years that Jamie feels anything close to hatred toward anyone. Jamie selfishly and foolishly ignores Gary’s attempts to contact him as he gets settled at Valencia - Jamie’s sad and angry and ill over it and really lets himself sulk. He’s sure Gary was expecting him to sulk for a little while – that’s Jamie’s way. He’s just gotten home from a run when his phone rings with an unknown number. <i>Who the bloody fuck’s this</i>, he mumbles, although he is quite relieved it’s not Gary. He’s not ready for that conversation. </p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Jesus, Carragher. That how you greet everyone who rings you?”</p><p>“Not people I actually want to talk to. Hi, JT. Alright?”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m alright. Wanted to ring and ask about tomorrow. See if everything’s still set or if I need to prepare anything.” </p><p>“No, nothing to prepare. Just having a chat, like.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	So fond of you

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sport/football/article-3346744/Jamie-Carragher-interviews-John-Terry-Chelsea-Liverpool-legends-come-head-head-discuss-ghost-goal-season-future-holds.html). 
> 
> I am all about carraville - I'm sailing on that ship so hard. But something/someone has to at least try to come between them at some point. So here we are. 
> 
> Some of the lines in the fic come directly from the article. Enjoy the pictures in that article, btw.

Retirement has softened him. Jamie knows that, anyone who knows him would say that. 

After three or so years, his allegiance to his club has made its transition from the first thing on his mind to a steady background beat, something that’s always with him but something that feels like less of a character trait and more like a memory. He mostly attributes this to the requirements of his job as a pundit – he speaks to his former rivals regularly, interviews them, reports on them (objectively, of course). It’s easier for hate to subside when a crowd of thousands isn’t driving on that hate. 

Jamie also attributes this fading of his hatred to his relationship with Gary. Jamie’s no hypocrite. Once you befriend a manc, have sex with a manc, feel some sort of love toward a manc (he’s admitting it to himself now and said it impulsively once to Gary), it doesn’t make sense to try and keep up that semblance of hate. 

Gary goes to Valencia and it’s the first time in years that Jamie feels anything close to hatred toward anyone. He selfishly and foolishly ignores Gary’s attempts to contact him as he gets settled at Valencia - Jamie’s sad and angry and ill over it and really lets himself sulk. He’s sure Gary was expecting him to sulk for a little while – that’s Jamie’s way. He’s just gotten home from a run when his phone rings with an unknown number. _Who the bloody fuck’s this_ , he mumbles, although he is quite relieved it’s not Gary. He’s not ready for that conversation. 

“Yeah?”

“Jesus, Carragher. That how you greet everyone who rings you?”

“Not people I actually want to talk to. Hi, JT. Alright?”

“Yeah, I’m alright. Wanted to ring and ask about tomorrow. See if everything’s still set or if I need to prepare anything.” 

“No, nothing to prepare. Just having a chat, like.” 

Jamie posts up at his kitchen counter and wipes his forehead with his shirt. It’s his Liverpool All Star Charity Match shirt. At that match was the last time he saw John. Similarly to Gary (Jamie shudders and thinks _actually not so similarly to Gary_ ), Jamie’s been nursing a friendship with John, which he sees as perhaps a greater challenge than how far he and Gary have come. For long stretches of time during his career, Jamie felt a blinding, unhealthy hatred toward Chelsea that not even Manchester United could encroach on. But that’s passed. The idea of talking to John Terry doesn’t even sting. It feels pretty good, like a mature achievement.

“Looking forward to it. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Since Stevie’s charity match.”

“Right. Interested in what you’re up to. Or not up to.”

The line stays still and Jamie grins. 

“You know, because you’ve not been starting – ”

“Yeah, I got it, Jamie. Always the cheeky wanker.”

John laughs warmly, fondly, and Jamie’s stomach clenches because fuck if that’s not how Gary laughs at him when they take the piss. Jamie holds the phone at arm’s length and takes a breath.

“We _will_ have to talk about this season.”

“Figured as much, Carragher.”

“And your future.”

“It’s going to be quite boring, I think. I‘m not as exciting these days. Not getting into any trouble. I don’t have any exclusive information.”

“You mean you’re not…Jesus, where do I start, you’re a goldmine. You’re not assaulting Americans, accepting bribes for Cobham tours, cheating on the missus, being a bloody racist?”

“Fucking hell. You’ve done your research then.”

“Slipping, crying? Spiking up your hair in that shit way you used to?”

“That last one’s the most embarrassing of all. I’d like if you didn’t bring that up.”

“I’ll consider it.”

They chat aimlessly for a few more minutes and Jamie nervously abandons the conversation when Gary calls through. _Cheers, JT. Talk tomorrow. Noon. Eat before you come to the studio but we’ll have tea._ And Jamie juggles his phone from hand to hand before deciding to pick up the call, the first time he’s picked up a call from Gary in a long time. 

“Gaz.”

“Don’t fucking _Gaz_ me. What the fuck is wrong with you.”

It’s not entirely venomous, although the dejection in Gary’s voice cuts more than Jamie thinks anger would. Gary’s side of the call is fuzzy and loud.

“Can hardly understand you. Where are you? It’s dead loud.”

“Just got out of my fucking presser. You’d know that if you answered any of my texts or calls. I was…I was so fucking nervous and I just wanted to talk.”

“Jesus, Gary. I’ve been on the phone with John Terry – we’re having an interview tomorrow.”

“Have you been on the phone with him for weeks?”

Jamie falls silent and finds it hard to swallow the bite of salad in his mouth. Jamie abandons his lunch and sits cautiously and tenderly on his sofa as Gary continues on, as if Gary were there berating him in person. 

“I feel bloody daft talking to you this way. You can do whatever you want but I thought we agreed to – _Estoy ocupado, hablemos después, sí? Sí, más tarde_ – hang on, I keep getting interrupted. I thought we agreed to talk, to stay, um – ”

“Your Spanish is getting better.”

“I thought we agreed to stay how we were. You told me you loved me, Jamie, for fuck’s sake. _Yes, I’m talking to Jamie - shut the fuck up, Phil, I’ll be right out_. I don’t need you to say that to me or even mean that if you didn’t. I just don’t understand why you’re ignoring me.”

“You seem mad.”

Gary groans and breathes heavily into the phone. Jamie can hear his shoes clacking in the background and pictures Gary pacing furiously in the cold, tugging at his tie, messing up his hair, face squished into a frown. He desperately hangs onto that image. He misses that face and hair and excruciatingly posh outfit so much that it feels better to act like he doesn’t. 

“I am.”

Gary sounds exhausted, too exhausted to have the laugh Jamie is encouraging to avoid the serious conversation Gary clearly wants to have. 

“Gaz, you love your serious convos, like.”

“Just with you.”

Jamie can feel and hear Gary relax and Jamie wants. Jamie wants him and wants him to understand. 

“I didn’t think you’d ring me to whinge. Thought you’d give me time to throw a bit of a tantrum since you left me.”

“Jamie, please. Right now, I’d much rather be there with you. Stuff Valencia. It’s all sorted. Coming home. And then when I show up at your front door, you’ll have to talk to me.”

Jamie rolls his eyes as he adjusts his pants – he’s home alone but is still slightly embarrassed about how hard he is just thinking about Gary coming home to him. 

“Gaz. I haven’t been ringing or answering you because I’m still gutted you’ve left. I don’t know what to say to you most of the time. I can’t even…get off thinking about you because I’m sad.”

“I feel a bit guilty. Nothing worse than a sad wank.”

Jamie laughs and his face warms when he hears Gary laugh as well. 

“Gary. You know. You know I – how fond I am of you. Even when I ignore you.”

“Fond! That’s well romantic.”

“Fuck off.”

“Just apologize for being a wanker and I’ll suck you off the minute you get to Valencia.”

“If I wasn’t planning a trip before, I am now.”

“I’m not getting an apology, am I?”

“Ta, Gaz. So fond of you.”

“Ha! So fond of you.”

 

 

 

The next morning, Jamie showers and dresses in a sharp oxford and jeans. He revels in work that doesn’t involve getting his makeup done, and he finds himself rather looking forward to speaking with John. In fact, he gets to speak with John before he anticipated – his phone rings in the car.

“Alright, John?”

“Jamie, I’m fucking lost.”

John says with a laugh, cursing and voice breaking, and when Jamie laughs back, John falls into an incoherent fit of giggles. 

“What have I done…how do I do this…”

“You speaking to me?”

“No, Jamie, soz, it’s my bleeding navigation system in this car. Dunno how to work it. Didn’t think I’d have to have read fucking engineering at uni to work this GPS.”

Jamie pulls into the studio lot, enjoying John’s struggle with his car far too much. 

“I’ve just narrowly avoided my own death here. I think I’ve got her sorted. Don’t take your tea without me, Carragher. And I’m not dressed up at all, in my training kit.”

“Fucking right tosser. Took a shower for this.”

“Sure you look well fit. There in a tick.”

John hangs up and Jamie realizes he’s smiling into the phone. _What the fuck just happened_ , Jamie asks himself, tucking his phone into his jeans. _Flirtatious cunt._

Jamie ends up impatiently having tea before John gets there, and the first thing John does is nudge Jamie from behind, nearly startling him into dropping his cup. 

“I said don’t take your tea without me. Christ. How late am I?”

They shake hands with smiles and John grips Jamie’s upper arm with his free hand. Jamie stares at him for a few seconds before shaking back into consciousness and checking his watch cheekily. 

“Doesn’t matter. Photogs aren’t here yet.”

“Photogs? I have to get my photo done looking like this? Jesus fuck, I’m wearing slides.”

Jamie eyes John as he pours and prepares his tea, tall lanky frame slightly hunched over the short table. His training kit is tight, white and blue. He’s the same height as Jamie but a bit more stretched out – his waist is slim and his legs are long and straight. John turns around with a wide smile – his eyes squint so severely and his mouth turns up so charmingly. Jamie’s eyebrows go up and he completely misses whatever John says. 

“Alright, Jamie? Do I look that bad?”

Jamie answers _no!_ far too quickly and John sips his tea with an enthusiastic nod, sitting down with John in the two chairs set up among a few lights and photography screens. John sprawls out in the chair as Jamie sits quite stiffly. 

“You sit like a child.”

“Bloody exhausted – training today has me shagged, you twat.”

John looks on, waiting for Jamie’s response, but Jamie’s distracted by the lines of his tight legs, still sculpted even when loose and relaxed. John crosses his legs with a small smirk and Jamie nods, blinking. 

“Yes, good, okay.”

“You seem to have kept in shape, Carragher.” 

“I still train. I’ve got a gym staff and fitness program and dietitian shite.”

John laughs and stretches out a bit, his shirt riding up. His pale flat stomach catches Jamie’s attention and John puts his hands behind his head. 

“You look good.”

“Are you – ”

The Daily Mail photographers enter without warning but John’s eyes don’t leave Jamie’s, even when Jamie hops up to greet them and give them the basic rundown of the job. Jamie returns to the seat and mouths _you fucking flirt_ to John, who just smirks. 

“Alright you two, Terry, Carragher. Have your chat and we’ll buzz around and take our shots, and then afterward we’ll take some others. We’ll try not to get in the way.”

Jamie takes his question cards out and John snickers, leaning forward to snatch them but Jamie yanks away. The photographers flick the lights on and John grins, leaning back again and nudging Jamie’s foot with his. _Get on with it, love_ , John says and Jamie nods, smiling. 

“John Terry is the best Premier League centre back of all time. Who said that?”

John’s mouth falls open with a wide, surprised laugh. 

“Come off it, Carragher. I dunno, my mum, probably.”

“It was me! You weren’t saying anything about pundits then, were you? But let’s go back to 2005. You are named the PFA Player of the Year. Do you remember when you found out that Stevie and I had voted for you? We saw each other at England and you seemed surprised. Was that genuine?”

And they chat. It’s organic and light and Jamie enjoys himself. A lot. They laugh and lean forward and touch each other gently, hands on knees, pats on thighs. Jamie finds himself wound up only minutes into the interview. 

“I had absolute respect for you as a player, JT. But, I’ll be honest, we couldn’t stand Chelsea at Liverpool back then. Was it the same for you with us? At the end of my career, I’d played against Chelsea 45 times. You’ll be the same, as you were in all those games…”

John grins madly, eyes thin and beady. 

“You know what, every time we got drawn together, we kept thinking ‘let’s have it’. The rivalry was there for the fans and we loved coming up against you and Stevie. It was massive. The semi-final in 2005. We were 30 points or something ahead of you in the table. We should have rolled you over. But the thing about Liverpool was that hunger, that fight. The fans, the passion. You and Stevie. It was everything.”

 _You and Stevie. It was everything._ It burns in Jamie’s brain. John’s gaze rests gently on Jamie and Jamie feels a little foggy, reaching for the phone in his pocket and rubbing it. _Is John really this fit, is he really trying to chat me up or am I just thinking about Gary? Am I just bloody horny or is John Terry fucking so fit?_

“How do you look back at your England career, JT?”

“I loved it up until a certain point when everything went on. It disappointed me, more than anything. I look back on my 78 caps and I’m unbelievably proud. I was captain for two spells. It’s the biggest honour you can have in football. As a kid, it’s the thing that everyone wants. I’m just disappointed with how it ended, really. I never saw myself walking away. It took something that big to say enough is enough. Once you get to 50 caps, then 60, then 70… I had a target of 100 caps. That is all I ever wanted to do. Number one was to play for England, second was to be captain and third was to get 100 caps. I’ll watch games now and it kills me. I don’t miss being away. No chance. But I watch England games and think ‘I could have been playing there’. I could have been there last summer.”

“Capello resigned in 2012 when he disagreed with the FA’s decision to take the captaincy off you. Have you spoken to him much since then?”

John’s serious face is amusing to Jamie – he closes his eyes and presses his lips together and runs his fingers nervously through his hair. _Like Gary does_ , Jamie thinks, shifting uneasily in his seat. 

“I’m still in contact with him. It’s really strange. I didn’t have that kind of relationship with him as captain. You know what it was like — he was hard. But we still speak, we text. It’s bizarre. How he stood up for me, given the character that he was, meant everything to me. I gave everything to England. In Portugal in 2004, I missed the birth of my kids as I was away with England. I missed the best day of my life. So the way it finished saddens me, if I’m honest. It was the best thing ever, going away and representing England.”

The flashes from the cameras go off and orbs flutter in Jamie’s vision, dazing him. John glows in the artificial light and Jamie blushes. _Here is this problematic fucking lad in front of me, Jesus the things he’s done. And he’s bloody cracking. No, there’s no way I’m just noticing this now. I’m desperate._

Jamie gets frustrated with the way John keeps cocking his head to the side and looking at Jamie like he’s really something to look at, so he tries to catch John off guard. “I expected domination again from Chelsea this season. That’s why it has all been such a shock. People can’t believe a team managed by Jose is having this run.”

John crosses his legs again, licking his straight, white teeth. 

“We were so good last season, teams sat off. But two games into this season and we get beat. Everyone saw that and thought ‘we can give them a run for their money here’. You get beaten again and the mentality changes. Teams come and have a go at you.”

Jamie has another go at him. He wants to watch John crack. John knows it and challenges him. _Come on, Jamie_ , he says. _Go on_. 

“You are taken off at half-time against Man City. What do you think?”

“I’ve got that mentality where you go in the next day, work your socks off and think to yourself ‘right, I’ll show you’. There is no point moaning, sulking or staying in the dressing room. That’s not me. I’ve got to where I am in my career by fronting things up. So I did.”

“Even at this stage of your career, does something like that put doubt in your mind?”

“Against Swansea on the opening day, I thought I played well. I had a shaky 45 minutes against Agüero, who is one of the best strikers in the world. But if you go back to the last seven or eight games I’d played against him, he hadn’t got a sniff. Maybe I was due that.” 

“People have been saying this year that ‘John Terry’s legs have gone’ but they haven’t gone — you never had them!” 

“But that’s lazy, isn’t it? You get to a stage and people say ‘that’s wrong’ but they don’t back it up. You’ve been there. You’ve played. You know your legs ain’t gone. It takes a little bit longer to recover but when you’re ready and the adrenaline pumps in, you are fine. I’ve never been quick.”

The photographers continue to buzz around. _Lovely_ , they say. _This is great, you two photograph so well_. Jamie begins to sweat a bit as they reach the end of their discussion. He catches himself not even looking at John’s face when he’s speaking, but at the waistband of his shorts, or the line of his calves, or the stretch of his neck. 

“Your contract is up in the summer. If Chelsea don’t offer you something, do you know your next move? Or are you just going to wait and see what happens?”

“I think I’ll wait, yeah. I don’t know at the minute. As you get older, you start to look down that route. I’m doing my coaching badges at the minute. I’m looking at TV. I’ve done some bits for Sky and BT…”

“We’re after someone, you know! Are you doing anything this Monday?”

And John laughs heartily, the sound full and sweet, but Jamie’s stomach churns, because the joke only works at the expense of the person he’s pretty fucking sure he loves. John notices the change in Jamie’s countenance and asks if he’s okay, if he needs some water. Jamie nods and stands up, following John to the catering. _Just a quick break_ , John tells the photographers, who begin to prepare the lighting and backdrops for their photo shoot. 

“JT, start thinking about your all-time Chelsea eleven for the article. We’ve haven’t got much else to talk about, it’s been lovely – ”

John innocuously grips Jamie’s sleeve and Jamie doesn’t think anything of it until he’s being shoved around a corner and up against a wall in a dark crevice of the studio set, John’s hands bunched up around his collar and his nose nearly touching Jamie’s. Jamie notices that John is a touch taller than him and John’s nose is longer – it touches Jamie’s as John tries to kiss him, loosening his grip on Jamie’s shirt and running his hands slowly along Jamie’s neck and into his hair. Jamie’s palms push lightly against John’s chest before John can kiss him, their mouths so close together that Jamie can hardly focus on his own defense efforts.

“John, Jesus. What are you doing?”

It comes out shaky, breathy, and the lack of force in Jamie’s voice drives John on. He nuzzles Jamie’s face with his own, his hands running down Jamie’s arms. John pulls back to look at Jamie and Jamie knows he’s close to cracking. _What the fuck is going on_ , Jamie thinks desperately. _Does every fucking footballer over 30 start experimenting? With their rivals? This has got to be a thing._

“You’re a bloody tease, Carragher. When did you get so fit?”

Jamie laughs and beams as John noses softly along his jaw, his lips on his ear and hands gripping the waist of his jeans. 

“When did you start pulling blokes?”

It drives Jamie high that John doesn’t falter – his hands are steady and firm on his pants, the weight of his body pins him to the wall, his mouth moves on the hot skin of his neck – even when Jamie asks. It feels like the first time he snogged Gary – his first time with another man was so fucking exciting and satisfying. _Gary. Think of Gary, Jamie._

“I could ask the same. Let me kiss you.”

Overwhelmed, Jamie stills and nods, lets his wrists be pinned to the wall, eagerly allows John to lick into his mouth, tilting forward to kiss him back. And it’s so fucking good, John’s hands moving to Jamie’s face and Jamie relishing every scratchy contact of his smooth face with John’s stubbly one. Jamie’s hand grips John’s hair and holds John’s face to his. Their teeth clack and they both laugh, John going back in and sinking his teeth into Jamie’s lip. Jamie groans and balls his hands up in the back of John’s still slightly sweaty training top. He lets himself be kissed within an inch of his life. John is feisty and dominant like Jamie would have guessed. _What the fuck am I doing? This is John Terry. John Terry giving me the snog of my fucking life. Doesn’t matter how problematic it is if no one knows. Actually, yes, think of Gary, you randy twat. He’s not here but you might fucking love him and you don’t love John._ John’s fingers sink slowly into the top of Jamie’s jeans and briefs and John bites low on Jamie’s neck and _fuck maybe I do love John Terry._

“Jesus. This is mad.”

John smiles into Jamie’s neck and moves his hands to the buttons and zipper of Jamie’s jeans, lightly rubbing the side of his hand against Jamie’s crotch. 

“All we need are those photographers to see you on your knees with me and you’ve got your latest scandal, eh JT? You’re getting a bit boring. You could use some attention.”

John bites down again on the same spot and Jamie whimpers, covering his mouth with his hand. 

“Who said I was getting on my knees for you?”

John laughs and Jamie stiffens. _Just apologize for being a wanker and I’ll suck you off the minute you get to Valencia. Gary said that and here I am, someone else - John fucking Terry - about to touch my cock._

“I’m a fucking ungrateful twat.”

John’s hands and mouth still and he looks up at Jamie, eyes wide and mouth shiny. Jamie feels cold and flustered as John pulls away, fingers lingering on Jamie’s arm, tickling and sitting lightly on his firm bicep. 

“Alright, Jamie?”

“I, um. We should get back over there, yeah?”

“Are you going to let me take you to mine after?”

Jamie’s eyes flutter and his throat goes dry. _Gary. Think of Gary in Spain who never leaves your mind except when you need him there most, when John Terry wants to fuck you senseless._

“John. Holy fuck. I can’t.”

John continues to smile and straightens out his training top, running his fingers down Jamie’s neck and pressing into his teeth marks. Jamie cries out, dizzy from the pain, and allows himself to be jerked about a bit as John re-buttons and re-zips Jamie’s pants. John buttons up Jamie’s oxford to hide the bite marks.

“You’ve got a bloke, then.”

“I haven’t. I just…can’t.”

“You’re lying to me. I’d rather you have a bloke and reject me for that reason than just reject me for some bullshite reason.”

The photographers yell out _Carragher! Terry!_ and they emerge from the dark corridor, both sucking down quite a bit of water before rejoining the photographers and being posed into friendly positions for the pictures. 

“Put your arms around each other – act like mates.”

Jamie nestles his fingers into John’s narrow side, resting his arm on his lower back, and John drapes his arm over Jamie’s shoulder. They each pull the other together, Jamie’s fingers pressing into the swell of John’s ribs. They smile for the camera and John mutters under his breath _keep touching me like that, Carragher, you fucking tease._ They take a photo facing each other closely, and Jamie counts the dark dusty freckles over John’s nose. John’s eyes flash and he whispers _not so bad kissing a Scouse cunt_ and that really brings up Gary for Jamie, who feels an intense need to talk to his long distance whatever-he-is, equal parts fuck buddy best friend opponent person he loves intensely. Too fucking intense not to be love. John glances expectantly at Jamie but now Jamie cannot meet his eyes. 

“These photos are lovely, boys. Let’s call it a day. We’ll get these to the Mail and you send us a transcript of the interview later today and we’ll publish it tomorrow, yeah? Well done, you two.” 

As Jamie puts his coat on and goes to pull his phone out to text Gary, John hands a folded piece of paper to Jamie.

“This your address? Rent boy.”

Jamie asks with a wicked grin and John offers a small smile, his teeth flashing briefly. Jamie opens it to see John’s all-time Chelsea eleven – a 4-3-3 that, to Jamie’s wild entertainment, includes John himself.

“Wanker!”

“Best centre back in the PL. Your words, Carragher.”

Jamie notices that John’s address is indeed scrawled at the bottom of the sheet.

“Go on and ring me if you change your mind, yeah? Cheers. Glad we’re mates now.”

Jamie can’t bring himself to respond – he watches John leave with a wink and is left standing alone with the background sound of people milling about, cleaning up the tea dishes and photography equipment. Hands shaking a bit, he pulls out his phone. No calls, no texts. He immediately dials Gary, who picks up on the fourth or fifth ring. Jamie lowers his voice and heads outside toward his car.

“This is a surprise, hearing from you.”

“Gary. Fuck. I don’t really know what to say but I want to say something. I meant it when I said it the first time even though I was probably drunk or just really sad you’d gone but I’m not fucking trading you for anyone. Or anything.”

“Has someone tried to pull you? Why do you sound so anxious?”

“No! Just never want you to think…never want you to have to wonder.”

There’s a long pause as Jamie gets in his car and Gary falls silent.

“Jamie. I know how you feel about me. Even when you ignore my calls. It’s you and I. It’s just you and I.”

Jamie grins and holds the phone flush with his cheek, savoring the sound of Gary’s voice. Jamie’s guilt and the bruise from John’s teeth throb. 

“When I get home from this interview, I’m booking a flight to Spain. Don’t even think I forgot about your offer. Can’t bloody wait to have your mouth on my cock.”

Gary exhales and hums contentedly. 

“How was the interview?”

“Fine. John Terry’s quite the character.”

And Jamie drives off, rubbing the mark on his neck to soothe the pain while Gary explains each and every messy detail of Jamie’s future blowjob.

**Author's Note:**

> Carraville is so fucking real, okay? Carra never went to JT's place.


End file.
